Silence Whispered

A Bible is full of souls turned inside out. I feel you there,

a sea of currency. So we silence stillness: my soul and I.

A furnace grieves glory, gazing a bedlight—awash in waves;

for our opera is thrumming softly. I’m agog in silence, a

vibrant river, searching for lighted names. Here’s an ember,

ever our souls, chaste in spirit—a holy fortress. Such caves—

are fraught with tablets, our inmost love. Unveil and climb:

chant and see. I ask, near rapture, veiled and felt, where

intuition whispers softly. Such is unspoken; where a furnace

joins a cathedral, and lights flicker latent passions. A lock has

been picked; a safe has opened; mercy and justice have

kissed.

I feel it rising, ever florid—the thunder of souls; where

cosmic ghosts float through chi. How have we perished,

kneeling and falling—climbing a mountain? And there’s a

quake; and there’s a fire; and there’s a whisper. We listen

and plead our case, fully driven, a ballad of faith.